


across the stars

by kaermorons



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Daddy Kink, Drabble Collection, M/M, See Chapters for Tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:12:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28226685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaermorons/pseuds/kaermorons
Summary: A collection of prompts I've written on Tumblr. Boba/Din centric.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Boba Fett
Comments: 42
Kudos: 407





	1. Flexible Din

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: you say you're flexible but how flexible is Din? that's it that's the prompt**

Din has bad knees. And a bad back. And a fucked-up rotator cuff. All of these things could have been solved with the right amount of money, but Din has never, ever been paid the right amount of money. He saw on some pilgrimage-centric planet that monks would hold these static poses for a very, very long time. It felt ridiculous in all his armor the first time. It felt ridiculous in all his baggy clothes the second time. Besides, no one could see him practicing how he usually does, especially since the others won’t be back to Slave I for some time…

He’s struggling with something called a Krayt Dragon. It’d been fighting him in all the spots that ached when breaking through the atmosphere and entering hyperspace. Legs straight, palms flat on the deck in line with his perfectly-straight arms and torso, he forced himself to breathe, even as his shoulders ached and his back screamed at him to stop. He breathed into it, letting the stretch burn through his straining muscles, tempering them like beskar. When the burn fades to numbness, he tries again.

Slowly, slowly, he bends his wrists, moving in perfect synchronicity with both sides of his body, despite the injuries being asymmetrical. He nearly huffs out a whine when his lower back threatens to spasm, but he keeps going. He rolls his body, pushing up into a pike shape, his legs parallel to the deck now, balanced on his two hands. Fuck, he’s almost got it.

Here’s the tricky part. Slowly, he bends his knees and spreads his thighs, like two butterfly wings opening. His breathing is shaky, but he’s almost got it, he’s almost there…

There. His body is on fire, and perfectly aligned. He forces himself not to get cocky, and holds the position until the burn subsides. He’s sweating profusely, and he’s worried his palms will slip and make him fall to the deck. He chokes on a whimper and brings his body back to the centerline, but exhaustion weighs out over effort.

He collapses in a heap to the deck of the cargo hold, breathing hard and seeing stars. His blood hums with adrenaline and the satisfaction he’d managed to complete this position with.

“One more time,” he grunts to himself, standing on wobbly legs, unaware of the eyes watching him.


	2. obvious daddy kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: Boba/Din where Boba 'accidentally' stumbles across Din's daddy kink, except Boba actually clocked that shit the moment he laid eyes on the poor guy and was just waiting for the exact precise moment to drag it out of him. Can be raunchy or just straight humorous or cuddly: I just wanna see him tease it out of him.**

It’s the hands that do it.

Boba Fett doesn’t miss a single thing about Din, and could probably guess what the man looked like without having seen under that armor. Those hands, walking away from Shand’s body, they twitched and flexed in worry before coming to rest on the back of his neck, looking around like the answers would be there for him to read. Boba’s own hands twitch a little, in response. He wonders what the back of that neck would feel like under his callouses.

The next thing he notices is his voice. The man can’t hide his emotions for shit, and in a galaxy as unforgiving as this, that must mean a lot of pent-up feeling with nowhere to go. So when he can, Boba talks to him. Little by little, the emotional wall comes down and Din is speaking with a hitch in his breath, a thickness to his tone, a neediness Boba doesn’t react to for fear of losing this openness. Instead, when he hears the first whined cry from behind that helmet, Boba puts his ungloved hand on the back of Din’s neck and keeps it there. Din almost melts, and his confusion grows.

The third thing is the stories. He speaks of being a foundling. Boba knows all that that entails, and feels a pang of sadness, remembering his father’s own foundling status. Boba listens as Din unravels the tightly-bound scroll of his life, and picks up where he says ‘the one who rescued me,’ instead of the traditional buir. He picks up where he says ‘want’ instead of ‘need,’ and where he glances down at Boba’s hands like they’re the answer to a question he doesn’t know how to ask yet.

Boba doesn’t want to scare him. He wants to ease him into understanding himself, and to do that, Boba has to show a united front against the ones that don’t accept Din, unconditionally. He speaks out against the rude and nasty people that sneer at Din’s beskar. He steps in front of him when something’s hurled their way. He fires back before Din can even get his blaster out. Din is always angled toward him in a pose that screams “What?” though he doesn’t speak.

So when Boba sits him down and asks if Din would like to stay on board with him and share his bed, Din nods shyly, and takes the outstretched hand. “Come here, ad’ika.” Din draws in a sharp breath.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

It’s a challenge, a fight Boba only wins if Din doesn’t forfeit. The hand in his doesn’t drop, and Boba smiles.


	3. fingering din time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: In reference to moon and old stars; I like to imagine Boba lovingly fingers Din many a times before he ever fucks him**

Boba has…expectations.

Most daddies do.

His first is that he likes Din absolutely naked whenever he can get him. It’s a matter of selfish indulgence, which they’re both due now, but also as a means of separating this life from the one outside the berthing doors. Din doesn’t think the same thoughts as when he’s encased in beskar.

Another expectation is that he be polite. “Please, daddy,” and “thank you, daddy” and “daddy may I?” all send thrilling heat down Boba’s spine, and he can’t get enough. Maybe it’s the title Din gave him. Maybe it’s something else. To be treated with such respect after so many cycles, could be that.

There are others, but there’s a very important expectation that Din struggles with the whole time. “You’re not ready until daddy says you’re ready.”

Usually it meant getting ready to come back to the main ship, but lately things have taken a decidedly…different turn.

“Gotta get you ready for the real thing, don’t I? Can’t have you hurting when daddy fucks you.” Din is losing his mind. There’s three long, thick fingers in him, and another just hinting at joining the fun. Every time the wet squelch of their lubricant hits his ears, they turn a shade darker. He’s never been this open before, never felt like he was worthy of this kind of pleasure. 

“Daddy…” Din pants, legs shaking with the effort of not moving from where daddy had put them. “I want you,” he whines.

It earns him a sharp slap to his ass, which makes the feeling inside him get exponentially more intense. He whines again, wordless, and his eyes loll around before landing on Boba’s. He gives a wide, unrestrained smile that still catches Boba’s breath.

“Well… you have been good for me. Taking daddy’s fingers, not even complaining. How did I get such a good little boy?” Din blushed another shade deeper, his breath catching once more.

“I like being good for you,” he squeaked. It sent a bolt of lust through Boba with no resistance.

“I think you deserve a reward, then, hm?”


	4. politely ask that you spank me daddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: Boba/Din: Din very POLITELY asking for punishment because Boba won't stop being soft and he wants to be a brat but he doesn't know how when Boba will not stop being gentle with him. Boba thinks it's straight up the funniest shit that he basically asked him for permission to act up before acting up and indulges him.**
> 
> cw: spanking

Din was fucking frustrated.

It was thirty minutes to their usual bedtime and Boba wasn’t showing any sign of stopping what he was doing to come and give Din attention, no matter what he tried. He would knock little tools off of the workbench, which Boba would pick up quietly and kiss his knuckles for. He would harrumph and stomp around the ship, which would earn him a concerned look and another kiss to the inside of his wrist. He would press buttons he knew he wasn’t supposed to, and Boba would go un-press those buttons as soon as he noticed them, but wouldn’t say anything.

There was a bit of self-sabotage going on onboard Slave I, to say the least. The anger and frustration and all of the emotions Din had denied he had were simmering just under a boil, and he didn’t know what to do. They were still in hyperspace, and would be for several more hours. But daddy kept a bedtime, and daddy’s rule was law onboard. There was something crawling under Din’s skin, eager to come out and ruin all the nice things Din had now. So he paces. He knocks things off tables. He presses buttons. He makes little comments here and there which upset even himself.

And still, Boba didn’t look up at him with anything worse than exasperation.

Din knew Boba was going to leave him someday, but it didn’t make the thought any less hurtful to know it. He knew Boba would get fed up of daddying for Din, he knew he was going to become too much, someday, ask too much of him. And that anxiety sat in his chest, right under the surface, and made his heart pound fast when he said, “Why don’t you hate me?”

Boba looked at him sharply in concern. “What did you say?” he asked slowly.

“I’m obviously a brat. Why don’t you hate me or snap back at me?” Din felt cold all over, his gut sinking with the choice he’d made.

“…Din,” he said softly, his I’m trying to reason with you voice.

“No!” Din said. “Why?” he demanded.

Boba stood, crossed the deck over to him. “Because, ad’ika, you are mine.” He towered over Din, still in his armor while Din walked around in his soft clothes. “And I adore you no matter what you do. I promise you that.”

“But–”

“No buts.” Boba carded a hand through Din’s hair, and he was pushed just that extra inch off the cliff, tears spilling down his cheeks. “You are mine. I’m going to treat you with the care I always will.”

Din leaned his face into Boba’s hand, not hiding, but taking some reprieve, to gather his thoughts. “What if I didn’t want you to ignore it?”

“The misbehavior?” Boba clarified. Din nodded. “Hm,” Boba said thoughtfully. “Are you asking me for a punishment, Din?”

Din’s face went red. That was answer enough, but Boba needed the words. “Yes, daddy.”

It amused him, to be fair. He’d expected Din to be a bit shy about punishment, seeking softness and safety. Punishment hadn’t been something they’d discussed at length, usually it was one warning and Din was back to being Boba’s perfect boy. Boba kissed his forehead and gave him a hug. “Thank you for telling me.”

Din didn’t know quite what to do, now. What would they do? Would Boba follow through? Was he too bad to fix with a single punishment? His anxieties were once again at the surface of his thoughts, and it must have shown on his face, because Boba held him at arm’s length and looked at him. “Go wait in the bedroom, Din.”

“But–”

“Din.” There was a tone to Boba’s voice that made him shiver, something dark and promising and full of as-yet-unproven power. Din swallowed and went where he was told, sitting on the edge of the bed with his knees tight together, his fingers laced into a knot.

Boba let him stew in his own thoughts for several minutes before Boba returned, shutting the door behind him. He stood with his arms crossed, a frown on his face. “Din, do you want to tell me what you did? Don’t lie, because I already know. I want you to tell me.”

Deep, stomach-turning dread filled Din’s body, and he felt the tips of his ears go red. “I…” his mouth was dry. He swallowed and started again. “I don’t. Um.” He sighed, hanging his head a little. “I knocked things off the table you were working with, I made loud noises when you were working, I pushed buttons on the panel, and I said mean things…” He felt tears gather in his eyes. “I didn’t mean them daddy, I didn’t.”

Boba smartly kept his bearing, not letting Din know how affected by his tears he was. “I know you didn’t. Are you sorry for being a brat?”

Brat. There’s that word. The word that Din is.

“Yes, daddy, I’m sorry.” Din’s fingers folded themselves even tighter together.

Boba sat next to him. “Thank you for apologizing. It doesn’t make me happy when you’re a brat, so I think it’s time for a punishment.”

Din gave a confused noise. But he already…apologized?

Boba chuckled darkly. “Stand up. Pull down your keks.”

Din got up on shaky legs, and did as his daddy told him to do. In one swift movement, Din was pulled over Boba’s lap, his ass in the air. “You can hold onto my ankle, but you’re not allowed to let go if you do.” Din grabbed for it, something to ground him. His mind was spinning with how this might go. At the first swat to his behind, he was shocked more than hurt by it, and made another confused noise. “You will count them.”

“Yes daddy. One.”

Din managed to count them all with ease, until Boba picked up the pace and intensity, swatting at his sit spots at the top of his thighs, and even the tender skin on the inside of his thighs. At twenty, Din was hard, and slightly grinding on Boba’s leg. At thirty, Din started to tear up. At thirty-four, he cried. At forty-one, he was wailing and almost thrashing. Boba held him steady for the last nine spanks, all of them hard and blooming bright red marks on Din’s already-pink skin.

“F-f-fifty, daddy,” Din said through sobs, shaking in his lap. Boba hauled him up into a hug, careful of the marks on his ass. A quickly-slicked hand found its way around Din’s prick, and brought him off quickly. His boy cried through his release and collapsed all at once, all his strings cut.

“You did so good, baby. So good for daddy. I’m sorry that hurt, but daddy just wants you to be a good boy, and good boys don’t need punishments. But that’s okay, that’s okay,” Boba said between kisses to his head. “Daddy loves you no matter what.”


	5. respectfully request that you dick me down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: Boba/Din prompt: Din politely informing Boba, seriously, he's being so polite, and could he please stop calling him a princess and maybe, just maybe call him a whore once in awhile that he's just not mean enough and Boba is just endlessly fucking amused by this. What I am saying is I just like literally anything where Din is really polite and Boba thinks it's funny as hell.**
> 
> cw: kink negotiation, namecalling

There are many hilarious jokes in the universe. It’s impossible to know all of them, and even more impossible to laugh at all of them. Perhaps one of the funnier jokes is that the Mandalorian Death Watch is a strikingly polite group of people, once the blaster fire stops and the dust clears.

Din Djarin was astounded to find that manners were not a commonality among all that swore the creed. He fell back on his manners, his pleases and thank yous, every time a situation baffled him. Seeing as he worked with mercenaries, thieves, and the general population of outcasts that made up the Bounty Hunter Guild, they were all mystified by his behavior.

When he’d first met Boba Fett and the recently-undead Fennec Shand on Tython, he’d been a bit preoccupied, but had fallen back on his thank yous and courtesies. Shand had been almost confused by the exchange, which was fair. Din had tried to kill her, after all. Fett seemed unsurprised, knowing Mandalorians prided themselves on their creed and liked to uphold it in a good light no matter what.

After the kidnapping, and the subsequent start of Boba Fett and Din’s relationship, Din had relied on manners and politeness, which Fett had taken to mean that Din just craved an environment where he could be good. The sex was amazing, the powerplay intoxicating, and Din never seemed bored or offended at the things Boba called him, did to him. 

Din had a tendency to rile himself up, get bound in his own mental gymnastics every once in a while. It was normally amusing to watch, since Din seemed to work his problems out for himself after some time. Except this little fit had been going on for six hours, and Din was muttering to himself, too low for the receiver in his helmet to pick up, but still a detectable buzzing noise that drove everyone on Slave I absolutely fucking batshit.

“Please. Do something,” Shand said, fingers twitching for the rifle at her side. Fett put her at the controls and stood with a sigh, following the sound of half-caught words throughout the ship until he found a pacing, full-armored Din in the kitchenette.

“You should let out whatever’s on your mind, Din,” Boba said, amused.

Din jumped a foot in the air, clearly lost in thought. He whirled on Boba, and even though he wore the helmet, he could picture the shocked expression as clear as day. Boba laughed a little and offered a hand. “Come, let’s go talk.”

Din at least allowed that much, finally silent from his ramblings. As soon as the door to the berthing closed, he was ripping off his armor and helmet. “Whoa, whoa, slow down, there. Gonna hurt yourself.” Boba helped him out of his clothes. So it’s that kind of day.

“Sorry. Thank you.” Din pushed a hand through his hair. It was growing longer now, almost curled around his ears in an adorable manner. Boba smoothed his wild locks back and kissed his forehead.

“You gonna tell me what you’ve been muttering about all day?” Boba asked, a tilt to his head that brokered no argument or excuse, but still kept the mood light.

Din could hardly meet his eyes, a muscle jumping in his jaw and neck, and his whole body fidgeting at once. “I have, perhaps, a request,” he said jerkily. He didn’t continue.

“A request?”

“Yes. A request about our…arrangement.” Boba frowned a little, and Din rushed to cover himself. “Nothing bad, I promise. I uh. Oh, shit.” Din sighed and ran a hand over his face.

“What’s going on, princess?” Boba tried.

“That. That’s what I’m talking about. The-the-the princess thing.”

“The princess thing.”

“Yes! You’re so…so…” Din made a frustrated gesture, probably wishing he could still pace around. “So nice.”

“I’m too nice?”

“Yes!” Din sounded triumphant, then remembered he didn’t actually finish his request. “I would…I would politely request that maybe you would…could possibly, uh.” Din took another breath, blew it out in a huff. “Just once in awhile, could you call me something else?”

“You want me to call you other nicknames?”

“Uh.”

“I already do call you a bunch of nicknames.”

“Whore.”

“WHAT?”

“Not you! Me! Me whore!”

“You’re not a whore!”

“I know that! I’m also not a princess, but I– dank farrik, this is going amazing.”

Boba looked at him bewilderedly before it clicked.

“You want me to call you dirty names.”

“Yes,” Din said emphatically. “Only when we’re…you know.” He gestured to the bed. “Not when we’re doing…the other thing.”

Boba was endlessly amused by this, and had to bite his tongue not to laugh. Din was so worked up, he probably would have submitted this ‘request’ in notarized paperwork if he could, if just to spare himself the mortification of using his words.

“Din, if you want me to call you a whore, I can call you a whore.” Din’s ears went a little red, hidden by the larger curls there. Boba fixed his hair, a fond smile on his face. “I am a creative man, you know. I just need to know what you’re ready for. Thank you, again, for telling me.”

Din fell into an embrace with him and sighed. “I hate manners.”

“You’re very good at them, whore.”


	6. submissive beskar din, badass slave din

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: Din in full Beskar kneeling at Boba's feet or Din in full slave garb fighting off someone.**
> 
> cw: graphic violence in pt 2

It wasn’t a fairly common thing that happened at Fett’s palace, but those brave enough to remain in his court weren’t as surprised at the sight as others have been.

The beskar-clad knight was kneeling at Fett’s feet, sitting back on his heels with his hands relaxed on top of his thigh armor. He sat like a statue in this position, growing neither antsy nor weary, staring at seemingly everything and nothing behind that black-tinted visor. A gloved hand sat atop the knight’s helmet, true power radiating from the action, not to mention who that hand belonged to.

Sometimes, the fingers on that hand would pet over the helmet like a lover would to for someone’s hair. It did not visibly affect the Mandalorian at Boba Fett’s feet, but the two involved knew it was more than a game of wills between them.

The spot was usually the seat of the king’s whore-slave, kept close not by a hand on a head but a collar and chain. The juxtaposition of the Mandalorian in that spot made the other courtiers uneasy, and filled the halls with rumors and speculation.

Was the whore-slave gone? Had the bodyguard taken his place? What punishment was the bodyguard serving, to have to humiliate himself thusly?

If only they knew.

If only they knew the delicious flush that went down the back of Din’s neck, visible only from Fett’s position behind him. If only they knew about the huge plug Din was trying to ignore. If only they knew that Fett was, at any given moment, mere seconds from ripping that helmet off and shoving his cock down that sinful throat.

But they didn’t know. And the tension grew, as visitors and all manner of curious beings came to view the king’s strange court. It became harder for Din to sit still, fingers itching to touch, underneath the relaxed facade. They didn’t know that the vocoder was set to direct comms, so only Boba could hear the hitching breaths coming from beneath that iron and glass. Only Boba could feel the sweat gathering at the nape of Din’s neck, and the slight tremble to his body as the pleasure of being seen heightened by the minute.

“I’m done with court today,” Fett said, an air of indifference sitting between the words. “Out.”

As everyone scrambled to obey, Din gave away the first sign of his affected behavior. His shoulders dropped a little from their posture, and he began to relax, and really feel the sensations all this teasing had done. When the room was empty except for them, and the doors closed and locked, Boba reached for the helmet and pulled it off.

“You have three seconds to get your mouth on me, princess.”

* * *

It was one of the rare days that the king let his pretty pet out for a walk in town. The village that had sprung up around N’Hutte was thriving, thanks to the benevolence of their new king and the curiosity of the galaxy’s wealthiest. Veiled in face but not in body, the slave walked several steps behind Fett, looking at the stalls and smelling the market like he couldn’t do while in the helmet.

Of course, the merchants began advertising their wares louder, proclaiming their products and their qualities, and that is where the trouble started. Without the helmet, Din couldn’t tune out the rabble, and without Shand, they were on their own. Something felt...off.

Din noticed the tail on the eastern side of the market square. He tried to subtly lead Boba in the other direction, but he noticed another bull-staring figure in that corner. And the next. And the one after that. They’d been blocked in. He took a breath and kept his cool, thinking through strategy as Boba bartered with a fruit salesman.

One of the assassins moved to strike, a wicked looking stiletto vibroblade aimed for the king. Din yanked the chain out of Boba’s hand, making him turn and miss the knife by mere inches. Din didn’t slow, taking a manageable length of the beskar chain and wrapping it around the assassin’s wrist, pulling on both ends until a sickening crunching sound was made. The assassin screamed in pain and rage, and with a single headbutt, Din knocked him out to the ground.

_ Fuck, don’t try that again without headgear. _

Din moved to a defensive position in front of Boba, and with a flick of his wrist, sent the free end of the chain snapping to another assailant’s face, catching him in the eye and nose and spraying blood on the sand. Din launched himself off a bench and onto the man’s shoulders, and a quick rotation of his hips later, the man’s neck snapped and he fell.

Two down. He used the chain as a whip on a pair of arms, both holding a serrated short sword about to plunge into Boba’s back. The hands dropped the weapon in surprise, and Din planted a bare foot on an elbow, pulling with all his might to snap both arms.

The final target had gained some sense and was running away, but Din was faster. He picked up the fallen sword and whistled sharply, distracting the runner. It was just what he needed, and he hurled the sword through the air, cutting it with a whistle of its own, before it plunged into the assassin’s neck.

The square was caught in a state of confused silence. Din didn’t bother cleaning up, instead approaching Boba and slipping the bloodied end of the chain back into his hands. Boba gently pressed his head against Din’s throbbing forehead, and the pain didn’t matter for that moment.  _ “Vor’e, _ princess.”

It would be a long time before someone else even thought about making an attempt on Boba’s life.


	7. i see it, i like it, i want it, i got it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: Bobin except this time around Din is getting better at asking what he wants... well, demanding. More specifically, this is the first time he has plopped himself in Boba's lap and said he's taking a ride, and Boba is so pleased he's just gonna let him do it. With a little patronizing teasing. Just to be sure he's serious. / bonus if you add, "You sure you got the teeth for it, princess? Hm?" / extra bonus points if you mention Boba loving it when Din is in his lap for cinched waist reasons AND how quickly he can take control if he feels like it  
> **

Armed with the knowledge that he’s gotten his way with Boba before, Din Djarin approached the man sitting in the mess area with determination and confidence. He’d polished up his armor so it gleamed, and even wore his least-wrinkly flight suit. He was going to get his way. He was going to get what he wanted, because…

Okay, he faltered in his steps a little at the reasoning behind it, but shook his head anyway. He had a plan. He didn’t have a fallback plan, but… Okay. Stop thinking about the possibility of failure, Din. He bunched his hands into fists and approached.

Smooth as ever, he pulled back the table Boba was doodling aimlessly at, and straddled his lap in one quick movement. His cape fluttered a little around Boba’s shins and knees. It was clear that Boba wasn’t exactly prepared for this kind of meeting, but the second Din settled his ass down on his thighs, worried wasn’t what he felt at all.

“Hello,” Boba said with a winsome smile. Din’s heart did a flip in his chest.  _ Kriff, he’s handsome. Snap out of it! _

“I’m taking a ride. You can involve yourself how you want.” Din let out a shuddering sigh, forcing himself to not add a dictionary of platitudes and politeness to the demand.  _ Yes, it’s a demand. Take what you want, Din. _

“Oh, a ride?” Boba asked in a teasing tone, soft and song-like. “Sure you know how to fly something like this?”

“Yes,” Din huffed again. “I do.” This wasn’t their first time they’d fucked like this, but this was the first time it was Din calling the shots. He wished now that he’d done this with his helmet on, to hide his nervousness and open expressions. He planted a hand on Boba’s chest and pushed him back against the seat. He worked open the fly on Boba’s trousers, and pulled out his cock, already stiffening in his hand from Din’s rather hostile approach.

“It might be difficult with all your shinies still on,” Boba pointed out, flicking a beskar plate with a soft ringing sound.

Din pouted at him. “You worry about yourself, I’ll do the rest.”

“When did my good boy get so serious?” Boba asked, his hands coming to rest on Din’s waist. He wasn’t in much of his torso armor this time, making the illusion that much more alluring and devastating to the eye. Fuck, if he wanted, he could just squeeze one arm around that nipped waist.

“M’always serious,” Din said, moving off his lap to suck Boba’s dick down his throat. Boba shouted, not expecting such forwardness. His fingers buried themselves into Din’s hair, soft and wild from time not spent squished in a helmet. He didn’t spend long down there, just enough to get Boba hard before he stood up again, pushing his pants down to his knees. Boba was about to make another comment, when Din turned to face away.

He had a plug in, which was only true for a second after Boba realized it, because Din was pulling it out and putting it next to Boba on the seat in the next. Boba was by no means less-endowed. In fact, they had to prep Din for a whole hour before he could take the whole length without discomfort. It seemed like adrenaline was on Din’s side, though, because he didn’t hesitate at all before sinking down as far as he could go, hands gripping Boba’s trouser legs and whining.

“Shh, shh, shh, go slow, Din, go slow,” Boba hissed, that hot body driving him fucking insane almost instantly. He moved the cape out of the way and put his hands back on Din’s tiny waist.

“I can handle it!” Din said through a breathy moan. He loved the stretch, the almost split-open feeling Boba always gave him. He was taking what he wanted now.

“You sure you’ve got the teeth for that, princess?” Boba says again, still teasing and patronizing. Din made an indignant noise in response and lifted his body up. Boba couldn’t help laying a spank down on that perfect ass. Din may be in charge here, winning a battle, but Boba’s already won the war, and he could take control of that tight little waist and fuck Din halfway across the galaxy if he wanted.

But he didn’t. For now, he was watching Din take what he wanted, and take it he did. Din made little whines, his knees almost shaking from how huge Boba felt inside of him. He gave a soft cry and tried rotating his hips. Boba’s fingers flexed and squeezed to keep himself from coming right there.

The lube Din had helped himself to before this encounter was helping a lot. It drove Boba mad, only feeling the sensation and hearing Din’s reactions, and not being able to see his beautiful face. They’d shared a few quickies with the helmet on, but had never taken it to this point. Din swore under his breath and moved faster, almost yelling Boba’s name when he brushed over his prostate. The spontaneity of the moment spurred them both onward, all panting breaths and blooming bruises under fingertips.

“Come on, princess. Take what you want, take it.” Boba kept himself as still as possible, letting Din triumph over him. However, the hand he snaked up to cover Din’s slim throat was enough of a reminder of who was actually in charge. “You gonna take my come too, princess? You gonna fill yourself up good and plug it up to play with later?”

Din gasped and looked back at him over his shoulder. He nodded, past the point of words. The thrill of the moment and the hard pace he’d set for himself surprised him. He came into his hands almost by accident, just seeing the look of Boba beneath him was enough. He gasped again and pumped his dick through the aftershocks. Boba could feel Din moaning and swallowing back air beneath his palm. He didn’t have much energy left to stand, so Boba finally moved, finishing himself off inside Din’s body with a few more thrusts. He grunted and directed Din to the side, on all fours so Boba could replace the plug.

Din made a keening noise when the toy filled him up. “There we go, not a single drop wasted. Good boy.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: Din having an incredibly tough day, lots of fighting, he’s aggressive and jumpy even after the mission. Boba takes him aside but Din ends up acting out during their alone time. How does Boba react/calm him?**

Adrenaline was no stranger to a Mandalorian. It bled into most memories they had - foundlings remembered the fear of being saved, the fear of seeing the inside of that helmet and finding it didn’t fit, the excitement that came from their first victory in battle. Their bodies knew stress, thrived off of it.

Today wasn’t any different than one of those heart-pounding memories. They were pinned down, in an inescapable situation. Fennec was trapped under a pile of collapsed plastoid tubes, Fett was reeling from a concussive blast, and Din’s hand had gotten jammed on a sharp edge. The three of them were running out of chances to escape. “I have a plan,” Din lied, seeing Boba roll to a sitting position from their cover.

“Don’t do it,” Boba groaned. “Ship’s on its way.”

“I gotta get to Fen.” Din stole the blaster out of Fett’s hand and stood, shoulders set. Blaster bolts screamed and pinged off his armor as he stalked forward, and adrenaline filled his lungs and kept his paces steady. The pile of plastoid wasn’t too far, and a few cover fire shots rang out from Fett’s location. He dragged Fennec out of the pile and back to cover, barely managing to retrieve her rifle as well. Slave I screamed overhead, spraying turret fire over the warzone their bounty had escaped to. Din dragged the half-conscious Fennec over his shoulder and kept a hand on Boba’s armor as he ascended the loading ramp. 

They had made it.

As soon as the ship jumped out of range of the return fire, Din threw off his helmet, uncaring where it clattered and rolled away. Fennec had some bruised ribs but would be alright, her head wound wasn’t nearly as serious as he’d thought. Fett seemed alright, already in the cockpit and finding their next location. Time jumped strangely after that.

Din paced the ship like a panther, pulling at his constricting armor and snarling at the pain in his hand.  _ Stupid, stupid. _ The bounty would have put them all in the realm of comfortable for several months, and they let it slip away. The familiar jolt of the ship going to hyperspace brought him back to himself, and soon, Fett was standing before him, pointing his head over to their berthing. Din followed wordlessly, still far too jumpy and snappy to be any fun.

He told Fett as such, and Boba turned to look at him, softness in his gaze, though his jaw was set. “Why don’t you go cool off in the fresher.” It was very clearly not a suggestion. The fire in Din’s gut flared, manifesting in a harsh exhale and his hands balling into fists.

“No.”

“Do you think you’re going to get anything done by being angry about what you can’t change?” Boba asked. His arms crossed over his chest, the click of the durasteel armor distracting Din for a moment. He knew Boba was right, but he couldn’t shake the agitation crawling under his skin. A scream sat, half-formed, in his throat. “Strip.”

“Why?” Din sneered, though his resolve was almost gone. Boba knew that Din was probably angling for a punishment, but in his hurt state, he couldn’t even think about it. He shifted tactics.

“So I can check you for injuries.”

This pulled Din up short. He swallowed and relaxed his hands. The hurt one was really throbbing now. “Fine,” he said, but his voice held the soft sweetness he only gave to Boba. not wanting to draw attention to it, Boba moved closer, helping him out of the armor and flightsuit, until Din sat on their bed in nothing but his skin-layers.

Even these were peeled off of him, with the same carefulness Boba always gave him. His fingertips were feather-light, and pulled shivers out of his skin. Boba gave a gentle hum as he brushed his hands over a yellowing bruise on Din’s back. “Just because you can deflect blaster bolts, doesn’t mean you should always seek to do it.” Impact bruises littered the areas beneath his armor. “Let me see that hand,  _ Din’ika.” _

A soft noise ripped out of the back of Din’s throat at the affectionate term. He gave over his hand willingly. It seemed like Boba had found the secret to draining him of his excess adrenaline, and in the wake of its absence, tears sprung to his eyes. “Oh, don’t cry, sweetheart,” Boba murmured against his temple. “Let me take care of you. Will you let me?”

Din gave a soft keen, and shuddered against him. “Yes.”

“Good boy.”


	9. edgelord boba fett

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: You mentioned in the last prompt that it takes Boba awhile to prep Din and I imagine Din gets really worked up in that time so.... Boba "prepping" Din but he's really just edging?**

“Aw, guess we’re not there yet.” Boba’s voice was teasing, playful, and it still filled Din with a sort of thrilling dread, like he’d just landed on safe ground and had to jump off another cliff put in front of him.

“Please, please, I c—”

“Ah-ah,” Boba chided, tracing his fingers around Din’s poor hole. “What did I say about you making decisions in here?” He sank two fingers into him, curling them around an already-abused prostate with the same surety he wrapped those fingers around a trigger. Din certainly felt like a loaded blaster. The issue was that Boba knew this too.

“I just—” he couldn’t even think of words to say. His thoughts had reduced to the points of sensation where Boba touched him. His cock was dripping freely now, his excitement too prolonged for him to keep it together. It’s been a fucking hour, and Boba hadn’t let him come. Or at least, he thinks it’s been an hour. It feels like an eternity, had he known the words to describe time just then.

“I know, shh…” Boba sounded amused. Too amused. Din couldn’t analyze the tone in his voice, the smile that wrapped around syllables, all he could see was the bulkhead in front of him, smeared slick with the sweat from his forehead when he’d pressed against it desperately, what felt like ages ago. “Maybe we should just try again another day. This little hole is just too tight for me, sweetheart.”

The noise that punched out of Din’s chest was wild, some kind of battle cry he couldn’t restrain or withhold. It held the devastated notes of pleasure slipping through his fingers. The scrape over his voicebox gave it an anguished edge, and the whine it petered into was a last cry of surrender. Boba only laughed darkly, seeing his sweet Din shake apart at the seams, a flag holding on in a hurricane.

“Oh, you don’t want that? You think you can last long enough for me to get you ready?”

_ No, _ Din thought frantically.  _ I am past the point of lasting. And you know I’m past the point of ready. _ His thighs shook, keeping him upright somehow. He remembered the bone-deep exhaustion of training days in the Fighting Corps, every night spent collapsed in a cot and dreamless. Din was somehow still conscious through this onslaught to his senses.

He swallowed, finally realizing Boba wanted a verbal answer.

“Yes.”

“What a good boy you are. Let’s get up to four this time, then.”


	10. Princess Din showing whats what

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: Oh. Oh wait. Okay so uh. Enabler again but!! But!! Only do this one if you think it's in character but. For "weird Tatooine": one particularly brave former slave (who is incidentally very, very pretty, in their own way, and battle hardened in a way that tells you maybe that one master that was a bit too harsh on the young ones DIDN'T die of natural causes) finally challenges Boba on having a slave and Boba tells them, "I'm not keeping him here. He leaves when he feels like it."  
> **
> 
> cw for like. idk slave imagery

The tension could be cut with a particularly strong breeze. The echoes of the accusation thrown at Fett still rang in the court’s ears. The man on the throne and the man at his feet were still, unnaturally still. It was like the whole room had been encased in carbonite, the anger radiating off the accuser suspending the air, holding it just out of reach.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself.”

Every eye in the room snapped to Princess down on the floor, his hands clenched into fists. The more the observers focused on him, the easier they could identify the subtle shake in his shoulders. “I’m not a slave,” came the rasp, familiar in some ways, but too ridiculous to speculate on.

Subtle incredulous looks were exchanged around the room.  _ Not a slave? _

“You’re only saying that because you have a collar and chain round your neck,” the accuser spits. “Boba Fett, the hypocrite king of Tatooine, freeing slaves and killing slavers, when he’s one himself.”

A few courtiers gasped at the boldness, and several nearly fainted when Princess rose, all imposing height and delicate, suggestive silks and jewelry, that black veil revealing nothing. They watched Boba release the end of the chain in his hands as his pet stalked forward. None of the courtiers had seen the incident in the market, the blood spilled on the sand, but there was hardly a single creature on Tatooine who hadn’t heard what happened.

Who hadn’t heard what Princess was capable of.

He came to a stop in front of the accuser, the chain dragging on the ground behind him. He seemed to consider them curiously, a tilt (again, familiar, but again, too terrifying to speculate on) to his head. They were filled with righteous rage at the display. A hand came to rest on the accuser’s arm, and slid down to pull back at their sleeve. Deep, badly-healed scars ringed both wrists, and their knuckles were bloodied and scabbed. “My servitude is not as yours was,” Princess murmurs, a bit quiet for anyone else to hear. “And he knows it.”

Doubt flashed in the accuser’s eyes, a hard edge to their jaw. “Why?”

“Still figuring that out.” Princess sighs and lets go of their hand, taking the dragged end of his leash and walking back up to the throne. Though the veil prevented knowing for sure, the accuser was certain that their eyes were locked as he put the end of the chain back in Boba’s hand.

And for a shining second, they could see that the collar on his neck was not a shackle, it was a wedding band.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: New republic representative comes to tatooine to talk to Boba and Din, who had a bad day, walks in midway through the talk (wearing his 'princess' outfit) and crawls into Boba's lap so they're chest to chest and just relaxes against boba and falls asleep. Din deserves a hug! Please give him one!**

Some days in court are better than others. It usually hinges on one thing: Princess. If Princess was happy, the king was happy. If Princess wasn’t there at all, you had Boba Fett’s full fucking attention, and the expressionless glint of that visor was as black as the history of the man behind it.

While most times, Princess would just sit at Boba’s feet and lay his veiled head against the king’s thigh, it wasn’t uncommon to see him walking around, swishing his hips this way and that. Everyone in the court was magnetically aware of Princess’ body, from the way the silk fell over his legs when he sat, to the gentle clink of the body jewelry as he shifted around.

Yet they were still unable to openly look their fill, lest their eyes be blasted out by Fennec Shand at Boba’s other shoulder. New Republic delegates hadn’t quite gotten the memo, with most of the returning delegates too flustered to even begin to talk about the things they’d seen.

One inexperienced delegate stood before the court, in Fett’s full attention. Things had been tense in court for awhile, the delegate only catching bits of gossip. There was something about a princess being absent from court for several weeks. Luckly, the beskar knight that the delegate had been warned of wasn’t there as well. Some of the bolder courtiers had muttered something about an affair happening between the knight and Fett’s princess.

It was a very strange court. But  _ when in Tatooine, _ and all.

There was a sudden murmur of apprehension and excitement from the stairs, and the delegate was stunned into speechlessness as a tall whirlwind of silks and jewels strode through the room, right up to the throne, and plopped himself down in the king’s lap. Though some of the room seemed to sigh in relief at the presence of the king’s favorite plaything, the others were more worried at the gauze covering one of those smooth, perfect thighs.

“Er, your majesty—?”

“Continue,” Fett’s voice said, his hands curling gently under the thigh of the man and situating him so he was straddling his lap.

“Yes, quite. Well, er, the charter states…” The delegate tried his best to not concentrate on the obvious, and get the job done, which was more impressive than the other delegates who had expressed their confusion in the best cases, and in the worst, disapproval.

Princess curled into the king’s chest like he belonged there. One of Fett’s hands gently touched the gauze, pulling it back to look at the wound before settling the bandage back in place and covering it with a large, gloved hand. Princess scooted up a little more, burying his face in Fett’s neck like the helmet and armor weren’t even there. The delegate finished up his speech and held his datapad at his side, awaiting the king’s decision.

“Princess, what do you think?” Boba asked gently, one of his hands coming up inside the veil, probably to scratch at Princess’ hair. The delegate was astounded that Fett would let some  _ harem _ member offer opinions in court, when the trade charter had many intricate details in its bylines that required—

“We won’t trade with you until you’ve freed Byss from the Imp slavers. You know our terms.”

Several members of the court grinned into their drinks. The delegate looked dumbfounded.

“I—planetary takeovers are not exactly in my wheelhouse, I’m here to negotiate for—”

“You’re a New Republic officer trying to make peace with a monarch. You didn’t expect us to have no demands in response to yours, did you?”

“Down, princess,” Boba chuckled into his princess’ hair. “I think he understands. Doesn’t he?”

“Y-yes, your majesty.”

“Good. You’re dismissed. I’m done with court today. Send the revised treaty and we might sign.” The court cleared out fast, everyone either slinking into the unseen exits in the shadows or up the stairs. The delegate was swept away in the chaos.

_ A slave-whore negotiating to free a planet of slaves. Leia isn’t going to believe me. _

In the empty throne room, Din slumped against Boba fully. “Missed your touch,” he mumbled.

“As did I.” Boba ran his hands up Din’s sides, reveling in the shudder it pulled from him. “What took so long?”

“The injury. Had to chase him on foot for hours. The grapple line on my bracer got jammed. Slowest footrace I’ve ever been in,” Din huffed.

“But you’re here now. And you didn’t use the cauterizer. I’m proud of you.”

“Don’t need to hurt to feel anymore. I have you.”

“You do.”


	12. spartners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: some touch-starved Din wrestling with Boba for comfort!**

There was a sparring mat on Slave I.

It was rolled up in the corner and shows its age by how the soft plastoid barrier around the foam peeled in places, but the way it flopped into a mostly-flat state showed how much Fett used it. Din bounced on the tips of his toes and rolled his shoulders, while Fett just watched him with a bemused expression. “You keeping the helmet on?”

“Helmet stays on,” Din shrugged. Growing up in the covert, the younger Mandalorians were always wrestling and throwing down. The familiar clank of a helmet against one another sang a song of home.

“Not interested in getting any uglier, so.” Fett put his own helmet on. Were Fennec watching the proceedings, she would have rolled her eyes at how ridiculous they looked. To them, though, it was practical. Most of their combat happened in full armor anyway, and they needed to be able to move with the weight of the helmet.

Fett toed the well-worn line on the mat, already geared up to go. “You come at me first.”

It had been a while since Din had taken on another Mandalorian, much less one with the ferocity and experience of Boba Fett. Even injured and back from the dead, his arms moved like Din wasn’t even there, pinning him into a strange hold that made Din’s stomach flip. He gritted his teeth behind the helmet, and tried his best to concentrate.

You see, even with how often he got into close-quarters combat chasing down bounties, Din wasn’t used to it. His skin craved touch, and he almost got himself into a few bad scrapes drawing out fights when he shouldn’t have been. It wasn’t something he could will away with meditation or taking himself in hand, but a physical hunger sated only by stolen experiences and oftentimes, violence.

Fett noticed the trembling beneath him, a minute tremor through Din’s muscles that felt too powerful to be physical strain. Behind his visor, Fett made a curious expression. He adjusted the grip on Din, no trouble for him, but drawing their bodies closer together made things interesting. Din let out a soft noise, something close to a sob but warped by the voice modulator in his helmet. His whole body stiffened like he’d been shocked, before it melted into the hold.

Din was dazed in Boba’s hold, his skin singing at each point where their bodies touched. The helmet felt suddenly too tight when Boba’s arm looped around to pull his shoulders and chest back. The thick, scarred forearm rested atop Din’s collarbone, and his hand could feel the frantic pounding of his heart. Din let out another whine and shivered like a leaf in the wind. “There you go, just relax,” Boba said softly. Had Din asked for sparring practice just to get this?

“D-don’t go easy on me,” Din stuttered out, his teeth chattering. Little pinpricks of light and darkness danced in front of his eyes as he gave a half-hearted struggle against Boba’s arms. It was more of a drunken loll forward. Boba tightened the grip he had wrapped around Din’s elbows, wrapped a thick leg around Din’s waist, and rolled them so Din was pressed to the flaking mat entirely. His breath left him in a wheezy moan as Boba’s bulk covered him up. He couldn’t even see the light in the bay anymore, his visor buried in foam and plastoid.

“You’re pinned. Yield,” Boba said in his ear. Din made another pathetic noise, feeling the rumbles from Boba’s chest directly. Slowly, subtly, he ground his hips down against Din’s ass, showing his interest. “I can keep this hold all day,” he purred. Through the touch-born haze, Din realized he was being offered an out.

He’d never take it if defeat tasted this sweet.

“Promise?”

**Author's Note:**

> [Come send me a prompt on Tumblr if you have an idea you want me to write!](https://kaermorons.tumblr.com/ask)


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